


Born In Blood

by thefangirlingdead



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, Manipulation, Murder Husbands, Unhealthy Relationships, dark!Will, killer!will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:43:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefangirlingdead/pseuds/thefangirlingdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal can see Will's true potential. He can see himself shaping Will into something beautiful, something ferocious and terrifying. And when Will finally breaks, Hannibal will be there to catch him and do exactly that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Young Blood

_Warm blood rushes out onto white sheets underneath his hands. The man underneath him struggles for a split second, hands gripping his arms, before the light disappears from his eyes and he goes limp. Watching him die shouldn't feel as good as it does, but God, it does. His mouth curls up into a vicious smile. And once his body is limp, Will begins to slice up with the knife, from his abdomen to his chest, opening him up. It isn't until he reaches his sternum, thick blood pooling around them now, that the man's wife awakes._

_Thankfully, she was a deep sleeper up until now. Thankfully, that gave Will a chance to plan what he would do with her once she did wake up. He even gives her a head start. She sits up, confused at first (as Will had predicted) but then she looks to her right. Then she sees the silhouette of Will, straddling her husband's lifeless body next to her, knife glinting with blood in hands. The room is dimly lit by a small, weak light on the far side of the room, but Will's eyes have adjusted. He can see the fear in her eyes when she flails, falling out of bed and screaming for help._

_Nobody will hear her. They're the only house around for miles._

_He lets her have a head start, almost lets her make it to the bedroom door before he leaps out of the bed with careful grace, bare feet hitting the carpet, and lunges for her. Will reaches out, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her roughly back toward him. She cries out in pain and fear as Will draws her small frame against his, holding her tightly. There's no way she can escape now, and she quickly realizes that._

_"Please, please stop," She begs, hands scrambling at his arms. He's holding her tight, though, too tight for her to get a good grip on him. Too tight for her to scratch him. "Please, God, I'll do anything. I didn't even see your face. I won't tell them anything I won’t-"_

_And that's when Will drives the knife deep into her stomach. She's not going to die as quickly as her husband. Will had killed him fast - efficient - by slitting his throat deep. She, on the other hand, slumps to the floor on her knees in front of him, bleeding out slowly. She whimpers in pain, and Will kneels in front of her, pressing a finger to her lips. "Shhh," He murmurs, "Don't panic. It will make it worse."_

_Her eyes are wide with fear, mouth open in a silent scream and she slumps forward into him. "There you go," Will murmurs, stroking her hair with a bloodied hand, "It'll be over soon."_

_The woman's body finally slumps against him after another minute, and Will pulls her away from him, allowing her to fall back on the ground._

It isn't until he looks down at himself, covered in blood, that Will realizes that he isn't dreaming. No, this isn't like one of the awful dreams he has every night. Those are realistic, yes, but they're nothing like this. They don’t feel as good as this just did. 

The blood is sticky, warm and uncomfortable on his clothes. The knife is heavy in his hands and he drops it with a loud thud on the floor. He stands, running his hands through his hair in a panic. Blood is dripping off of the bed, now, where he killed the husband.  

His heart is hammering in his chest, hands shaking as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials his psychiatrist’s number.


	2. Secrets Are Mine To keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There's a cold heart, burried beneath  
>  and warm blood, running deep.  
> Secrets - are mine to keep  
> protected by silent sleep_
> 
> \- ["The Weight Of Us"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZiDlT94vp4) \- Sanders Bohlke

Hannibal has always known that Will isn’t living up to his true potential. Ever since he watched Will kill Garret Jacob Hobbs, and ever since he saw the way that the kill had affected him, he'd known it. It isn't like Hannibal to get attached, to make friends, but Will is a different story. He can see Will's potential. He can see himself shaping Will into something beautiful, something ferocious and terrifying. Something worthy of seeing - and understanding - Hannibal's true identity. 

Hannibal would be lying if he said he wasn't manipulating Will a little bit, but at the same time, he never tells his poor, dear patient anything that isn't true. Will hadn't known it at the time, but killing Garret Jacob Hobbs had felt good, and Hannibal had made a point in telling him that it's not a bad thing. That it must feel good to God, too. He knows that it's going to take time for Will to finally reach that potential, but he's willing to wait.

And if he's being honest, he's growing more and more attached to his beautiful, broken angel with every passing day. He savors the dark look in Will's eyes when he tells him about his murderous dreams, about how sometimes, they feel good. He almost presses Will against the ladder and takes him right then and there when he smells blood on his hands in one of their sessions, after Will had accidentally contaminated a crime scene.

Hannibal knows that Will is slipping, that he's about to hit his breaking point, and he knows that it's only a matter of time before he can finally step in and shape him. Soon, he'll finally be able to show Will exactly what he's capable of. He can finally show him just how good it feels.

Even with all of that - even with knowing that Will is going to be his soon - Hannibal can't deny that he's a little surprised when he receives a call from Will at two in the morning.

Will's voice is panicked, shaky. He fumbles over his words as he tells Hannibal that something happened. That he lost time again and he's not sure where he is or how he got there. " _I thought it was a dream_ ," Will keeps muttering over and over, breathless into the phone. "Hannibal, I don't-" His voice catches, Hannibal is pretty sure that he hears him vomit. "I need you," He finally manages after a few moments, coughing, and though Will sounds terrified and distraught, Hannibal can't help the small smile that creases his face.

"Where are you?" He asks, voice calm, collected, as he starts pulling some clothes on. Will mutters out an address and Hannibal writes it down, promising that he'll be there soon. "Don't move, William," He instructs, "Just stay there."

"Thank you," Will mumbles, and then Hannibal is hanging up. Thankfully, the address is only a short drive away, and with the way that Hannibal is driving - speeding - it only takes him a little over fifteen minutes to find the small house, tucked away in the woods. _At least it's secluded_.

Hannibal's chest tightens when he sees Will, drenched in blood, sitting on the front porch of the house.

_Finally._

Hannibal wants to run out of his car. He wants to rush to Will, pull him to his feet and kiss him _hard_. He wants to lick him clean, wants to taste the blood of his first kill, wants to share this moment with him, but he can’t. Not yet. It will have to wait, because right now, Will is broken. He's broken, and Hannibal finally has the opportunity to piece him back together.

Will is sitting, slumped on the porch, staring down at his blood stained hands when Hannibal approaches him.

"Will?" Hannibal asks, voice soft, composed.

"I killed them," Will says immediately. His voice is empty, emotionless and drained. He looks up at Hannibal at that, through thick, tear stained lashes. " _Hannibal_..."

"Shh..." He coos, leaning down so he's eye level with Will. He takes Will’s face in his hands, "It's going to be okay."

"But-"

"I'll fix this," Hannibal promises, smiling a small, reassuring smile. He holds out his hand at that. "Take my hand, Will."

And after a moment of contemplation, he does. Will lays his blood-soaked hand in Hannibal's palm, and Hannibal pulls him gently to his feet, allowing Will to drape himself around his shoulders for support. He's getting blood on his clothes and he knows he'll have to get rid of them, along with Will's, but he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind if he has to clean up the crime scene to protect his broken boy. Not when things are finally working out the way he always knew they would.

"Stay in the car," Hannibal instructs as he helps Will into the passenger seat. "No matter what, stay in here, alright?"

Will nods in return, apparently still in a daze. "Thank you," He breaths.

And Hannibal can't help himself at that. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Will's forehead. "I'll be back shortly," He says, placing a hand briefly on Will's shoulder. And then he's gone, shutting the car door and walking toward the house. He has gloves, ready in his pocket, and pulls them out before entering the house. And as he opens the front door, wiping any traces of prints away with a cloth, he's glad that Will isn't the only one who's experienced around crime scenes. Granted, Hannibal is usually the one creating them, but he'll know how to clean up Will's mess.

The majority of the house is fine, everything in place, save for the bloody footprints that Will's socks had left, leading toward the front door. Hannibal follows the trail through the den and up the stairs to where they begin, in the second room to the left. Hannibal wipes the prints off of that door as well before he enters the bedroom.

He can't deny the hint of pride he feels when he walks into the room.

The woman's kill is sloppy, and Hannibal can tell that Will did it in a panic, trying to hurry before she made it out of the room. The man, however, makes up for everything else entirely. The fatal wound, the deep slit in his throat, is clean and practiced. It looks like something that he would do - it's quick and deadly and efficient - and he can't hide the small smile on his face as he studies the body. His stomach has practically been opened, and while it's not as well done as the throat - Will had obviously gotten distracted by the woman - it shows promise.

Once Hannibal is done studying the bodies, he begins cleaning the scene, making sure that there are absolutely no traces of Will left behind. He takes the blade with him before he leaves thirty minutes later, and with one last look back at the room, he smiles. Will's first kill wasn't perfect, but once again, he shows potential.

Will is fidgeting in the front seat of Hannibal's car when he returns, waiting anxiously for him. Once Hannibal pulls the gloves off and throws them and the knife in the trunk, he joins him, turning to examine him before starting the car. "Are you alright?" He asks, even though it's a pointless question. Will is broken right now.

"What am I going to _do_?" Will asks instead, eyes wide with fear. He's finally snapped out of the haze that Hannibal had found him in, and he's panicking, realizing the severity of the situation.

"You're going to come to my house," Hannibal answers softly, finally starting the car, "And you're going to get a good night's sleep."

"But-" Will starts, eyes still wide. He's scared, and Hannibal knows that he can fix that with time. The police hopefully won’t find the bodies for a couple of days, which means that he’ll have that time to prepare Will. Jack is going to make him look at those bodies, and he needs to be ready.

"We will talk about it in the morning," Hannibal assures. He reaches across the car at that, placing a hand softly on Will's knee. "I'll take care of you," He adds, voice low.

It's no surprise to Hannibal that Will sleeps well that night. Despite the panic in his eyes and his shaky hands and him insisting that he should just turn himself in, he passes out almost immediately after his head hits the pillow. It's just more proof that Will is finally becoming what he was meant to be. After months of fighting with his inner demons, he finally has a good night’s rest.

Hannibal gives him the guest bedroom and a change of clothes and once he falls asleep, Hannibal comes into the room to clean everything up. All of Will's clothes will have to be discarded, but he can make a trip to his house with him tomorrow to get more, if need be.

Will looks peaceful as he sleeps, as if he didn't just slaughter a newlywed husband and wife in their bed. Blood still stains his skin, despite Hannibal scrubbing his face and hands and arms in the sink once they got home. He resists the urge to grab Will and kiss him right then and there, face dripping wet and eyes wide as he watches the blood disappear down the sink.

 _Not yet_ , he tells himself. _He's not ready yet._

With one last look at Will's sleeping form, Hannibal retreats to his own bedroom, running over everything in his head, and planning his next move. Will is going to be panicked in the morning. He's going to want to do something stupid like call Jack or turn himself in, which is why Hannibal takes his phone with him when he leaves his room. He knows he'll have to be up early, ready to deal with whatever his precious killer throws at him, but it’ll be worth it.

* * *

 

Will awakes the next morning to the banging of pots and pans outside of his bedroom door. He sits up with a start, wondering if it's one of the dogs getting into something or if someone broke into his house, but quickly realizes that he _isn't_ in his own house. Initially, he panics, but calms himself when he looks around the dim room, recognizing it as Dr. Lecter's guest bedroom. He had slept in it once, after a night of drinking and eating with his therapist and friend, when he had decided that it wouldn't be safe to drive home.

Will takes a deep breath, scrubbing sleep off of his face with his hands. It isn't until he pulls them away from his eyes that everything hits him.

His hands are still stained red. He can still smell the iron of blood on them, and when he closes his eyes, he can see the terrified eyes of the woman that he killed last night. He can remember the way that his face curled up into an awful smile as he watched the light disappear from her husband's eyes. He's up and out of the bed in a matter of seconds, breath coming out in sharp, shallow bursts. In his hurry to make it to the door - to try to run away from the awful, bloody images flooding his mind - he runs into the bedside table, knocking a lamp onto the floor with a loud crash.

Will collapses onto the floor at that, head in his hands, still struggling to breathe correctly. Instead, his body heaves with deep, ragged breaths, ripped from his lungs. He vaguely registers when the bedroom door opens, the smell of whatever Hannibal is cooking in the other room flooding his senses, but he can't bring himself to move from where he's crumpled on the floor.

 _He killed them_.

"Will?" Hannibal's voice reaches out to him in the darkness like a light, and though he's still struggling to breath - still struggling to accept that he _killed_ a couple in their bed last night - he manages to open his eyes and look up at him. His face is tear-streaked - he hadn't even realized that he had been crying - and he wipes the wetness away with his red-stained hands.

"You're alright," Hannibal says softly, crouching down next to him. He looks concerned, but not disgusted. And certainly not troubled by the fact that he let a _murderer_ sleep in his house last night. He's even cooking breakfast for him for heaven's sake. Will finds himself wondering just how much Hannibal knows. Maybe he cleaned himself off and then walked to his house. Or maybe he showed up covered in blood. Or, God forbid, Hannibal found him...

"How-" Will starts before his body throws him into another fit, wheezing and struggling to breathe.

"Let’s get you up," Hannibal insists instead, choosing to ignore Will's unfinished question. He pulls Will up by his armpits, steadying him once he's standing on two legs again. Everything starts spinning around him as he struggles to stay standing upright and Hannibal leads him forward gently, a soft hand at the small of your back. "You're dizzy," He announces, knowing exactly how Will is feeling, like always, "You need something to eat. Come on, I'm making breakfast."

Will sits at the kitchen table as Hannibal finishes cooking - bacon and eggs and sausage, which smells delicious, even to Will who doesn't have an appetite - and tries to piece everything together. He's silent, even as Hannibal sets coffee and food in front of him. It isn't until his doctor sits across from him at the table, studying him with those all-knowing eyes that Will finally speaks.

"How did I get here?" He asks, voice shaky. He lost time again, but like before, little bits and pieces are coming back to him. He remembers Hannibal cleaning him off - _oh God -_ and he remembers Hannibal helping him into a change of clothes and into bed. And he remembers killing an innocent man and woman.

"Eat," Hannibal says instead, motioning at Will's plate with his fork.

Will obeys - he's pretty sure he's do anything that Hannibal asked him at this point - and shovels food into his mouth. It's delicious as always, despite the churning in Will's stomach when he thinks about blood disappearing down the sink. The same sink - he notes - that Hannibal had just washed his hands in, as if it were nothing.

" _Hannibal_ -" He presses after half of his food and the entirety of his coffee are gone. More details are slowly coming back to him, but he still feels lost. He still needs answers. Are the police looking for him? The last thing would want is to bring Hannibal - innocent Hannibal - down with him.

Hannibal stands at that, taking Will's mug and refilling it for him. He sets it down in front of Will, eyes studying him before he finally answers his question. "You called me," Hannibal says, voice low, and Will's head snaps up at that.

" _What_?" He hisses. He's not mad at Hannibal - he can't be - but he can't believe, after all of that, that he'd want to call Hannibal and bring him down too. "You - and you _came_?" He stutters.

Hannibal nods, sitting down in the chair next to Will. He waits for him to ask another question - to panic - like he knows he will.

"I killed them," Will breaths, burying his head in his hands again.

"I know," Hannibal returns.

" _You know_ ," Will spits, shaking his head. He takes a few, deep heaving breaths before looking up again. His eyes are wet with tears again, and Hannibal resists the urge to reach forward and wipe them off of his face.

_Don't cry, William. This is good. You've been reborn, and I'll protect you._

"You need to turn me in," Will mutters, voice laced with remorse and self loathing.

"No," Hannibal replies immediately, steady and certain.

Will shakes his head back and forth quickly. The room spins around him and the grips the table until his knuckles turn white, anchoring him to Hannibal's warm, familiar kitchen. "I can't drag you into this," Will mutters. His eyes dig straight into Hannibal's when he looks up at him, which catches the doctor off guard. Not even during their more intimate moments during their sessions together does will maintain eye contact like that. He's already growing. Hannibal feels his chest tighten.

"I can't bring you down with me," Will presses, shaking Hannibal out of his thoughts. He lowers his eyes at that, looking down at his hands. "We all knew that it was only a matter of time... That we'd show up to a crime scene and I'd be the one who put the body there."

"They won't know that you put it there," Hannibal insists, voice low, hard. He doesn't want to see Will beat himself up over it. He knows that it's going to take time, but he wants to see Will accept it. He wants Will to embrace the new him, reborn in blood.

Will's eyes narrow. "I'm _covered_ in blood. I know my prints are probably all over that place." It was sloppy. Will remembers.

Hannibal sighs. This is going to be the hard part. Though it will hopefully be Will's turning point, it's going to be the hardest part to explain. "They won't know," Hannibal insists again.

"How do you know that?" Will asks, voice harsh and panicked.

"Do you remember sitting in my car, waiting for me?" Hannibal asks, leaning in to grab Will's hands. He struggles to pull them away, but Hannibal's grip is hard, anchoring him down and forcing him to remember the details of the night before. "I put you in the passenger seat and I told you to wait, and you did, do you remember that?"

Will closes his eyes tight for a moment, sucking in a deep breath as he remembers. He nods slowly, eyes still closed. He remembers Hannibal carrying him to his car. He remembers the gentle kiss on his blood-soaked forehead, and he remembers watching as Hannibal pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket before entering the house. "You saw them," Will breaths, as he remembers watching a flashlight shine in the top window of the house - the room that the husband and wife had been sleeping in.

"I did," Hannibal confirms, hands still gripping Will's.

"And you didn't turn me in," Will says, voice empty. His eyes are open now, staring into Hannibal's again.

"I did not," Hannibal replies, trying to keep his voice soft and soothing.

  _Please understand, good Will._

To his surprise, Will rips his hands out of his grip. It's a sudden and quick movement and Hannibal doesn't expect it when Will pulls way, standing so fast that the chair actually falls over behind him. "So this is what you do?" Will asks, voice hard. His eyes are narrowed and his body is coiled in tight, as if ready to attack if need be.

Hannibal stands, holding his hands out flat in surrender. He takes a tentative step forward, trying to calm him. "William-"

"No!" Will exclaims, taking a step backward, "Don't you touch me!"

"Will," Hannibal returns calmly, taking a step back as well. He needs to make Will feels safe, not cornered. "Listen to me-"

" _Is this what you do_?" Will repeats, voice raising again, "You take broken people like me or Abigail and help us hide the bodies of people we kill? I was okay with her - and even that was a stretch - but _this_? This is too far."

"Will-"

"You don't know what I'm capable of," Will argues, his body shaking at the truth behind his words. Even _he_ doesn't know what he's capable of, and it absolutely terrifies him.

"I do," Hannibal replies, as soothingly as possible, "That is why I took you in. Why I brought you here. I want to protect you, Will."

Will shakes his head back and forth frantically, "I don't need protecting." His body curls in on itself again at that, arms crossing in front of his chest. "I'm a monster," He breaths out, sucking in a few shallow breaths at his impending panic attack.

Hannibal moves quickly at that, closing the gap between Will and himself in just a couple of long steps and enveloping him in his arms. Will tries to fight back, pushing against Hannibal's chest, but it's useless. "You're not a monster," Hannibal breaths into Will's dark curls. If he inhales deep enough, he can still smell the blood on his skin.

_No, he's not a monster. He may be bathed in blood, but he is no monster. He's an angel._

"How do you know?" Will sobs, body slumping against Hannibal's.

_A surrender. Finally._

"Because I know monsters," Hannibal returns, stroking at his hair. "Jack Crawford is a monster for doing this to you. Forcing you to push yourself this far. But you're no monster. You were acting on your most basic instinct."

"But-" Will starts to argue, but Hannibal silences him.

"You're not broken," He soothes, "And I did this for you - I did it for Abigail - because I care for you, and I care for her."

" _Hannibal..._ " Will is clutching onto him now, hands fisting his blazer. It'll wrinkle, but he doesn't care. Finally, Will is clinging onto him for help. And finally, he can help him in the way that he needs it.

"I'm going to protect you, Will," Hannibal breaths, pressing a kiss to his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has got kind of a slow build, but I promise the next chapter completely makes up for it!  
> As always, comments and feedback are appreciated.  
> Chapter 3 should be up early next week for sure, if not sooner!


	3. The Truth Is Buried In My Veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _When I'm with you alone,_  
>  I keep complete control,  
> I wanna tell you how I feel,  
> But when it comes to it I don't.
> 
>  
> 
> _All of that's about to change,_  
>  The truth is buried in my veins,  
> Deep down I let the feeling grow,  
> And now I'll spell out in bold.  
>  
> 
> \- ["Hideaway"](https://soundcloud.com/hudsontaylormusic/hideaway) \- Hudson Taylor

It takes two days for the police to find the bodies.

Hannibal spends his spare time in those two days preparing Will for the inevitable. "Jack Crawford is going to call you about them," He says to Will late into the first day. It's after Will's panic attack and after his outburst. They're at Will's house when he brings it up, checking up on the dogs and feeding them. Hannibal insists that Will stay at his house for the time being, just to make sure he doesn't have any more murderous sleepwalking episodes (one is enough to deal with for now) and Will agrees on the condition that they check up on the dogs until he goes home for good. Hannibal even calls Jack, informing him that Will is under the weather, and might be bedridden for a few days.

 _"Yes, I'll make sure he gets better soon. I understand that you need him out there, but he’ll be no use to you like this._ "

Will sighs, leaning up against his counter. Winston sits at his feet, looking up at him expectantly, and he tosses a treat his way, hoping it will make the needy eyes disappear. "I know," He breaths.

"You're going to need to be ready for it," Hannibal says, voice careful and soft. They haven't really discussed it directly since Will's outburst, and he wants to avoid another one at all costs. "He's going to make you look."

"I know," Will repeats, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. He's trying to shut it out, but he can't. He can't escape this, and he's going to have to deal with it.

"It's best that you don't know who they are," Hannibal explains, taking a few steps forward to join Will next to the counter, "Or any details about them."

"Do you?" Will asks, opening his eyes to look at Hannibal, and the doctor can't help but wonder why Will hasn't begun to question his motives by now. He's surprised that his brilliant boy hasn't begun to wonder why he's so good at this - lying to the police to get away with murder - but he decides that it can be something they discuss at a later date. Preferably _after_ Will gets through this.

Hannibal nods at that, and to his surprise (again) Will just accepts it.

"You don't have to lie to them about how it happened," Hannibal continues when Will doesn't ask any more questions. "In fact, it may be best to tell them everything you remember."

"They'll know if I lie, once they get a specialist in there," Will agrees, nodding.

_Good. He's starting to understand._

"Yes," Hannibal replies softly. He reaches over and places his own hand over Will's. He doesn’t jump at the contact, like usual, but instead just gazes down at where their hands connect. _Progress_. "Your mind is stronger than you think, Will," He assures, even flashing him a small smile, "You will make it through this."

Will scoffs in return, "I'm glad you believe in me, cause I sure as Hell don't." 

_You will. Just give it time._

* * *

 

Will doesn't sleep well that night.

Hannibal had expected that the good night's sleep was more than likely a one time thing - Will's mind resting after finally getting what it had been longing for all that time - but he doesn't expect the soft knock on his door around midnight, just as he's about to fall asleep. He had told Will to come to him if he needed anything, but knowing the stubbornness of the other man, he figured that it wouldn't happen. He smirks slightly to himself as he gets out of bed, knowing that Will is finally coming around. He'll do well when Jack calls on him. He just knows it.

"What can I do for you, Will?" Hannibal asks when he opens the door, revealing a distraught, sleepy and sweaty Will Graham on the other side.

"I can't sleep," He replies in a daze. Hannibal immediately realizes that Will isn't going to remember this in the morning. He's losing time, and Hannibal is witnessing it first hand. Will scrubs his hands over his face at that, adding, "I keep dreaming about them."

"The couple?"

Will nods sleepily. "Every time I close my eyes, they're looking at me."

Hannibal does his best impression of a sympathetic frown before motioning for Will to step inside his room. "Maybe it would be best if you stayed in my room tonight," He says, going to his closet to find Will a new shirt to replace his current sweat-drenched one. "Then I'll be right here if you need me."

Will takes the shirt that Hannibal hands him, but he shakes his head. Even when he's losing time in his daze, he's still stubborn. Still normal, skittish antisocial Will. "I can't do that to you."

"You'll come knocking on my door regardless," Hannibal presses, and he sees guilt flash over Will's face at the words. "I insist."

Will finally sighs at that, his entire body slumping with exhaustion, and nods. "Alright, yeah. Thank you, Dr. Lecter."

"It's no problem," Hannibal replies, smiling.

Hannibal spends the majority of the night stroking Will's hair and watching him sleep. While his murders - his first kills - are troubling him now, he knows that they won't be for long. He knows that within the next week, maybe even the next couple of days, depending on when the police find the body, Will will grow to accept who he is. He will grow into what he was meant to be.

He's good at helping the FBI and catching killers, and he can still keep doing that once this is over, but Hannibal knows that he will be better once he's reached his full potential. Will is full of raw energy, and he just needs to direct it. Once he embraces this, he'll be better than he ever was. He just needs to see it. 

When Hannibal finally falls asleep - it's a little after two when he glances at the clock - he does so in hopes that they find the bodies soon.

* * *

 

The sharp ringing of his cell phone wakes Will up early the next morning. When he turns over, eyes still heavy with sleep, he realizes that he’s laying alone in the large expanse of Hannibal’s bed - he doesn’t remember how he got there - and a pit forms in his stomach. He silently hopes that he didn’t do anything too stupid or embarrassing to end up in his psychiatrist’s bed, and reminds himself to ask Hannibal what happened. Will leans over at that, grabbing his phone from the bedside table, and then the pit in his stomach grows larger.

Will’s mind is so far away - panicking and imagining the dead couple, covered in blood in their bedroom - that he almost doesn’t register Jack Crawford telling him that he needs him at a crime scene, sick or not. He can hear Jack’s harsh voice, asking him if he’s okay, to which he replies with a soft, “ _Yeah, I’ll be there soon,”_ and then he’s hanging up.

He’s up and out of the bed in a split second after that, clutching his stomach and running into Hannibal’s adjoining bathroom, where he falls to his knees in front of the toilet and vomits, the pit in his stomach too much to bear. He’s not sure how long he’s there for, sucking in harsh breaths, dry heaving and clutching onto the porcelain, before he hears footsteps. Will doesn’t have it in him to look up, but when he feels the comforting hand on his back and the soft, “ _shh,”_ he knows that Hannibal will take care of him. Hannibal will fix things, just like he has in the past.

“Jack called me,” Will croaks out, stomach convulsing when he says it. There’s nothing left to throw up, but his body keeps trying.

“I figured so,” Hannibal replies, hand rubbing comforting circles into the small of his back. 

“I can’t do this,” Will groans. His head falls forward onto the toilet seat and he lets out a shuddering breath.  _He can’t do this. He can’t. He needs to confess. He can’t do this._

Hannibal is quiet for a moment as he pulls Will up into a sitting position, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. Will’s eyes open, staring up at his doctor, silently pleading for help. They’re wide and terrified and empty, and he’s gripping onto Hannibal’s shoulders for dear life now. (Part of him distantly remembers a time when he was terrified to touch the other man, like there was an invisible wall in between them. That wall has apparently been long since demolished, now.) Hannibal cradles him in return and it’s comforting, even if Will can still feel the pit in his stomach. “You can,” Hannibal finally replies, voice sturdy and sincere. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Will laughs (it’s a laugh full of venom and self-hatred) and turns away, avoiding Hannibal’s knowing eyes. “No, I’m really not.”

Hannibal’s heart actually tugs a little bit at that; at the pitiful look on Will’s face. His angel - his broken, fallen angel - still doesn’t understand, and Hannibal wants to show him, wants to  _make_  him see what he means, but he knows that Will needs to figure it out on his own. And going to the crime scene, seeing the bodies (his work of art) and lying to Jack, will be just the push that he needs.

“Up you go,” Hannibal finally says, pulling Will up so he’s standing, “You need to get dressed and ready. They’re expecting you.”

Thankfully, Will listens. He takes a few steps forward on shaky legs - he looks like a baby deer, taking its first steps into the sunlight - before turning to look at Hannibal one last time. His eyes are still heavy and scared, but they’re not vacant like they were minutes before, or how they had been when Hannibal came to pick him up from that house. “Are you coming with?” Will asks, voice small, and before Hannibal has a chance to say anything, he adds, “I need you there.  _Please_.”

Hannibal has to hold back a smile at how much his Will has grown - how much he relies on him for guidance - before he nods. “I’ll be there.” 

The car ride to the crime scene -  _Will’s_  crime scene - is mostly quiet. Hannibal stays relaxed, glancing over to his passenger every few minutes to make sure that he’s alright, even if he’s far from it. Will shifts in his seat, uncomfortable and nervous and  _sick_  and finally breaks the silence, only a few miles away from their destination.

“I woke up in your bed,” He says quietly, turning to look at Hannibal for the first time since he got in the car. He looks calm and collected and Will finds himself wondering how he can be so put together, knowing what he knows. How can he be so certain that things are going to go well? 

“You were having nightmares,” Hannibal replies, sparing him a small glance before turning his eyes back to the road, “I figured it would be best if I could keep an eye on you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Will breaths, turning to look out the window. He can feel Hannibal’s eyes on him when he does so, and he doesn’t dare turn back around, for fear of what he’ll see in those eyes. “I didn’t - I mean I wasn’t-”

“No,” Hannibal replies, seemingly reading his thoughts, “You were just scared.”

“Oh,” Will breaths again, body visibly relaxing. Well at least he didn’t do anything stupid. Though that’s the least of his worries.

He isn’t sure if it’s him losing time or if it’s because he’s in a daze, numb once they pull up to the familiar looking house, but one minute, he’s looking to Hannibal for reassurance (the doctor grabs his hand briefly and squeezes softly) and the next, he’s stepping from the car to the bedroom. He blinks, and suddenly, he’s standing in the room and there are other FBI agents moving around him, clearing out of the room and trying hard not to stare at him.

_Will feels like he’s floating, like he’s not really there. His entire body feels numb and empty when he looks at the bodies; at the blood painting the bed and the floor and the wall. His hands feel like they’re dripping with it again, and he can almost feel himself holding the knife again, lunging forward to stab the nearest agent. He blinks and he can see himself taking Jack’s gun after that, turning to shoot him, then every other obstacle in the house. He can feel the rush of killing again, the adrenaline that comes when he watches the life disappear from their eyes._

_He can imagine himself walking calmly down the stairs, stepping over lifeless bodies and making his way back outside. He can see Hannibal, watching him expectantly, waiting. He can see the reassuring smile on his face when he steps - blood-soaked - back into his car. Hannibal will understand him. Hannibal knows. It’s okay…_   

Jack claps a hand on Will’s shoulder at that, bringing him back to reality. He opens his eyes with a gasp and quickly realizes that his hands are balled into fists, body tensed. “You alright?” Jack asks, though the lack of concern is apparent in his voice. He doesn’t care how Will is feeling, he just wants the job done. He just wants to finish this up so he can get home to his dying wife. _Selfish._  Will feels rage bubble up in his throat but somehow manages to swallow it, blinking hard a couple of times before nodding.

“Yeah, I’m good,” He chokes out.

“Good,” Jack shoots back, hand squeezing Will’s shoulder for a moment before he pulls it away. “Let’s get this done then, yeah?”

Will nods numbly, trying to ignore how easy it is for him to imagine killing Jack Crawford, right here and now. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t turn when Jack starts walking away, but he flinches when he calls out, “Let us know when you’re ready for us.” 

Will nods stiffly in response, then Jack is shutting the bedroom door and he’s _alone_. Alone, save for the two bodies -  _his_  bodies - laying in front of him. Mocking him.

 _You did this, Will. Look what you did_.  _This is your kill. This is your design._

He shakes the thought from his head. 

Unlike any other crime scene, he doesn’t need to close his eyes to relive what happened. He watches himself, lurking like a predator, into the dark bedroom. He leaps onto the bed, straddling the husband’s hips, and slits his throat deep and quick, before he can struggle enough to wake his wife. Once the man’s body goes limp, Will digs the knife deep into his stomach slicing  _up up up,_  as if to gut him.

(Will can still remember how his mouth curled up into a feral smile. He felt good. He felt free.)

The wife finally wakes, and Will watches - like a crouching animal, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce - until she’s almost to the bedroom door. He leaps off of the bed at that, all grace and agility and yanks her by her hair back to him.

(He feels proud now. He feels pride in his kill, in how well he’s doing. He distantly thinks that Hannibal would be proud, too, though he’s unsure why.)

She doesn’t die as fast, but Will vividly remembers the light leaving her eyes. He remembers watching and feeling  _good_.

He sucks in a deep breath at that, and it isn’t until then that he realizes that he’s fallen to his knees in front of the wife. He’s staring down at her lifeless face, and he still feels good. The feeling doesn’t go away for a few seconds - until he shakes himself out of it - and then he feels like he’s going to be sick again. 

Thankfully, Will manages to hold it back - manages to keep himself together and somewhat composed besides the thin sheet of sweat covering his body - and he clears his throat before calling Jack’s name.

He expects everything to be a blur after that. He expects to lose time or fuck up and end up in custody, but he doesn’t. Instead, everything is crystal clear for the first time in a long time. He feels sharp, poised and ready. He tells Jack that the killer was someone close to the husband and wife-

( _Lie, he’d never even seen them before that night.)_

 _-_ and that it was a crime of passion.

“Are you positive?” Jack asks, eyes scanning over the crime scene again.

“Completely,” Will lies, swallowing the lump in his throat. It’s quiet for a moment, and he senses that Jack hasn’t completely bought it, so he does what Hannibal told him. He tells the truth about what occurred, only changing the major, life threatening details.

“He killed the husband first,” Will starts, taking a few steps toward the bed, “Did it quickly, so that she wouldn’t wake up right away. It wasn’t until he cut into his abdomen that she got up and he  _waited_.”

“Why did he wait?” Jack asks, looking down at the bed with him now.

Will feels a surge of confidence at the knowledge that Jack is buying it. Adrenaline pumps through his veins. “He wanted her to  _see_ ,” Will answers, and it’s not a lie. He  _had_  wanted the woman to see what he had done before he killed her. He wanted someone to witness it. He wanted to share it. “He wanted her to see what he had done to him.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Will continues, growing more confident, “He almost let her escape. He gave her false hope before he killed her, too.”

“The second kill wasn’t as precise,” Jack notes, walking across the room.

Will feels the rage bubble up again -  _how dare he disrespect him like that_  - but he calms it again, walking to join Jack. “I think he realized what he had done,” Will replies calmly, and it isn’t a total lie. He remembers panicking and calling Hannibal ( _Hannibal, he’ll fix this_ ) shortly after. “And he panicked. He left.”

Jack nods, and at that, he’s calling the rest of the team into the room, telling them to look into people close to the newlyweds -  _the Donahues_ , he learns when Jack says their names - and telling them to find out if Mrs. Donahue had been having an affair.

The rest  _is_  a daze after that, as Will listens to them mention that no prints - absolutely no evidence - had been found. He remembers feeling a sense of gratitude for Hannibal at that, and then he’s following Jack numbly out of the house. 

Hannibal is waiting for him, leaning up against the side of his car, and Will can’t help the small smile that creases his face when he sees the good doctor. He had taken care of him, he had helped him, just as he said he would. And Will knows that Hannibal will be proud of him when he tells him about how well he did.

“Dr. Lecter,” Jack calls once they’re out of the house, “I didn’t know that you were going to be here.”

Will feels a sudden sense of panic, but Hannibal quickly remedies it. “Nor did I,” He replies coolly, even smiling slightly at Jack, “But I was at Will’s house checking up on him when you called, and I figured I could come along, in case he needed anything afterward.”

Jack chuckles slightly at that, as if Will isn’t right behind him and replies with, “Well, you know how he gets after it sometimes.”

“More than most,” Hannibal responds, looking over Jack’s shoulder at that and locking eyes with Will. “Is he done here?”

“He is,” Jack says, turning to glance at Will as well, “I leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Hannibal replies, voice still calm and level, but for once, it doesn’t fool Will. He can see the venom in Hannibal’s eyes when he says it. He can see that his doctor - his protector, his friend - is holding back, and he reminds himself to ask him about it later.

“Are you ready Will?” He asks, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Will nods in return, and carefully climbs back into Hannibal’s car.

The drive back to Hannibal’s house is silent, but Will’s heart is racing. He doesn’t even question why they’re going back to his house - why he can’t go  _home_ , now that all of this is over - because he can’t bring himself to speak. And it’s not because he’s scared or numb or freaking out, but because he’s trying to sort out all of the thoughts and emotions swirling around in his head.

Why had looking at the bodies felt so  _good_? Why had he felt pride - a certain smugness - looking down at them and lying to Jack about it? He had expected, on their way there earlier, that he’d get sick. He thought that he’d panic and confess or that he wouldn’t be able to look at what he had done, but it was completely the opposite.

 _Looking_  hadn’t hurt him like it had at other crime scenes, when he had to climb into the mind of another killer ( _another_ , because he is one now, too) and watch them work. No, instead, looking felt good. It felt easy. In fact, he realizes, as they near Hannibal’s house, he doesn’t even have a headache, like usual.

He feels at ease, until he turns to the left - to look at Hannibal, his protector - and sees the small smile crease his face.

He then remembers feeling proud at  _his_  crime scene, at the skill and precision of his kill. And he remembers thinking that Hannibal would be proud, too. Why? Why would he think that, of all things? 

Hell, why had he decided to call  _Hannibal_  of all people, after he came-to that night and realized what he had done? How did he  _know_ , beyond a doubt, that Hannibal would fix things? That Hannibal wouldn’t judge him?

Helping Abigail - a poor girl who had been forced to help her disturbed father kill - had been one thing. She needed guidance. She needed someone who wouldn’t judge her, who could help her, and Hannibal had stepped up to be that person. She’s just a young girl.

So why the hell would Hannibal want to help  _Will_? He had killed that couple in cold blood, and nothing more. It wasn’t self defense, like Abigail. 

And he had  _liked it._

So why would Hannibal want to help him?

He spares another glance at his psychiatrist as they pull into his driveway, and if Hannibal feels his eyes on him, he doesn’t let it show.

“Are you hungry, Will?” Hannibal asks, seemingly oblivious to Will’s inner dilemma, as they walk through the front door of his house. He pulls Will’s coat easily off of his shoulders and hangs it alongside his own on the rack just inside the door, then leads the way into the kitchen. Will follows him without a word, mind still swarming with unanswered questions.

_How had Hannibal known how to flawlessly clean a crime scene of all prints and evidence? How had he been so certain that neither of them would be caught?_

“I can make some lunch, if you’d like,” Hannibal speaks up again, when Will doesn’t say anything in return. It isn’t until then that he looks up, realizing that they’re standing in the kitchen. Hannibal is leaning easily up against the counter, looking at him expectantly.

“I’m not hungry,” Will finally mutters out, running a shaky hand through his hair. He can’t help but notice that he’s panicking  _now_ , though he hadn’t been at the crime scene.

“You look pale,” Hannibal returns, eyes concerned as he takes a few steps toward Will. “You should eat something.”

Will shakes his head in return, taking a couple of steps backward so that he’s now leaning against the kitchen counter. His head is spinning and when he closes his eyes, he can see the answer to all of his questions, just out of grasp. Every time he tries, he can’t seem to grasp it. It’s like when you forget the name of a song or movie and you  _know_  it, you really do - it’s on the tip of your tongue - but no matter how hard you try to grab onto it, you can’t.

He opens his eyes when he feels Hannibal’s hand on his cheek.

“ _Will.”_ Hannibal’s voice is soft and calm as always, but he can hear a slight hard edge to it. His face is close to Will’s now, leaning in to study him. “You’re warm,” He murmurs.

“I-” Will chokes, and then he’s practically falling forward into Hannibal’s strong grip. He doesn’t hold Will close or cradle him - like he probably needs right about now - but he still holds him upright, leaning him back up against the counter so he can look into his eyes.

“You did well back there,” Hannibal says when Will doesn’t finish his choked off sentence, and the praise actually  _surprises_  Will.

It also sparks something inside of him.

( _Hannibal would be proud._ )

“It didn’t hurt, looking,” Will mutters, eyes squeezed tight again. As much as he wants to keep them open - as much as he wants to look into Hannibal’s always calm, soothing and knowing eyes to anchor him down - he can’t. “It  _always_ hurts, but it didn’t this time.”

“It could be that you didn’t have to climb into the mind of another killer,” Hannibal replies in his usual calm, sturdy voice, “But instead it was your own. It could have made it easier.”

Will shakes his head back and forth at that, not because he disagrees, but because it worries him. “I thought it would be harder,” He mumbles, “Looking at what I had done. I thought I would freak out or get sick.”

Hannibal is silent for a beat, choosing his words, and if Will were to open his eyes, he’d see his psychiatrist studying him with soft eyes. As if he understands. Will would wonder  _why_  he understands.

“How did it feel?” Hannibal asks at last, “Looking?”

Will’s heart is hammering in his chest now, as if it’s going to burst out at any moment. He can see the answer to his questions now, in the jumbled mess that is his mind, but it’s still out of reach, blurred as if he’s looking without his glasses. His body tenses.

He doesn’t want to tell the truth, but part of him - the part that knows  _why_  - knows that Hannibal won’t judge him.

“It felt good,” Will mutters, and he feels his body slump slightly, admitting it. It takes a huge weight off of his shoulders, and once it comes out, the floodgates open. “I could see myself doing it again.”

Hannibal is silent in response, but Will knows that he wants him to go on.

“I-” He stutters, swallowing hard, “I could see myself taking Jack’s gun. Killing him and the other agents. And it felt good. It  _would have_  felt good, had I done it.”

“Did killing Mr. and Mrs. Donahue feel good?” Hannibal asks at last, and  _that_  makes Will’s eyes finally open.

When he studies Hannibal’s face, he doesn’t see any judgment. There isn’t any disgust or fear. His face is calm and cool, like always. It’s as if Hannibal just asked him a simple, easy question, like how work was. 

His answer feels closer than ever now, all he as to do is reach out and grab it-

“Yes,” Will breaths at last, head falling forward slightly. Even though Hannibal’s gaze does not falter, Will can’t keep the eye contact. Not when he just admitted to killing a newlywed couple as they slept and  _liking it_.

“I know,” Hannibal breaths out in response and-

_And suddenly, Will can see the answer to all of his questions, clear as day._

He doesn’t know why he didn’t see it before. Now, with it swarming around in his head - it’s all he can think about - he doesn’t know how it was so hidden from him. Will has spent his entire adult career profiling and getting into the minds of killers, yet he couldn’t see one, standing right in front of him. He couldn’t see it even when he had all of the evidence, all of the facts, placed neatly in front of him.

He couldn’t see it, because he was blinded by the possibility of a friendship. 

(Or, if he lets himself think about it, something  _more_  than friendship.)

“It’s you,” Will breaths at last, eyes wide as they stare into Hannibal’s.

He should be terrified. He should be running away. He should grab one of the kitchen knives only a few inches away from him on the counter-

( _Oh god, those knives have probably cut into human flesh before_ )

\- and attack or get the hell out of there.

He  _shouldn’t_  be staring into Hannibal’s eyes, as if they’re the only thing that matters, backed into the counter and cornered. 

“Yes,” Hannibal breaths, a small smile creasing his face. It’s the most  _real_  smile that Will has seen grace his features, and that  _should_  terrify him more than it does. “I was wondering when you’d figure it out.”

“You- you-” Will breaths, clutching onto the counter until his knuckles are white.

“Yes,” Hannibal repeats, waiting for Will to come uncurled. Waiting for his reaction. 

“I should have known,” Will breaths. He wants to look away, wants to break eye contact with the killer - the cannibal, the Chesapeake Ripper - standing in front of him, but he can’t. “Oh my  _god,_  I should have known.”

Hannibal just smiles in return and Will feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I should have known when you told me that you helped Abigail,” He mutters, feeling his face flush with his stupidity. He finally manages to look away, embarrassed and ashamed. “Of course you knew how to clean up my crime scene…”

_My kill. I knew you’d understand. I knew you’d be proud._

He feels numb, unable to move and leans back against the counter.

Hannibal just watches Will expectantly. He knows that he won’t try anything. Even with the kitchen knives only an arm’s reach away, he knows that Will - remarkable, brilliant Will - wouldn’t be so stupid or rash. He knows, though he can’t get into his mind the way that Will can with other killers, that he’s trying to understand it. Trying to understand him.

It’s the tipping point. Things can go two ways from here and for Will’s sake, Hannibal hopes that he chooses the right one. He hopes that the months of pushing him in the right direction - coaxing out his inner demons - will pay off right here. He hopes for Will’s sake (he doesn’t want to have to kill the beautiful boy, but he will if need be) that he does what’s right.

“Are you going to kill me?” Will mutters out finally, looking up at Hannibal from where he still stands, backed up against the kitchen counter. His eyes are wide - scared - and he searches Hannibal’s face as if he’s trying to understand the man behind the mask.

_Soon, Will. Soon, you will understand. I’ll let you see._

“Only if I have to,” Hannibal replies honestly, even taking a step backward as if to prove that he won’t hurt him. He’s fast - faster than Will - and he’ll only kill him now if he’s attacked or threatened. 

_Your move, Will. Please choose wisely._

He knows that if Will decides to keep quiet - to keep his secret and not to attack - now, that it’s not because he understands. No, it’ll take more time for Will, even with his brilliant mind, to understand. And he can. Hannibal will let him - will let him see behind that mask - eventually. But first, he needs to take this step. Even if it’s only because he’s scared. 

(Scared because he doesn’t want to die. Scared that Hannibal will tell Jack Crawford about the murder. Scared that he’ll lose his one and only friend.)

“Do I have to?” Hannibal asks when Will is silent for a long minute, staring down at his feet, unable to make eye contact. And the boy stares for a few moments longer, arms shaking slightly - he’s been gripping hard onto the counter top for a while now - dragging in deep, calming breaths. It isn’t until his body is under control, until he stops the trembling and the heaving, that he finally looks up. 

Will’s eyes dig into Hannibal’s, searching to understand, to learn, before he finally replies - with complete honesty and maybe just a hint of fear - 

“ _No_.”

Hannibal smiles again and at that, he closes the gap between them again, taking a few steps forward so there are only inches between them. Will trembles beneath him avoiding his eyes again, seemingly scared that Hannibal will kill him anyway. That he’ll go back on his word. He wonders which part of him Hannibal will eat first, if he’ll keep him all to himself or if he’ll invite Jack and his wife over for dinner. And that’s when Hannibal moves, slow and gentle - unlike Will is expecting - to cup his face with his hand. He brings Will’s gaze back up to his face - his eyes are scared - and strokes his cheek gently with his thumb.

“I will not go back on my word, if you keep yours,” Hannibal says softly, searching Will’s eyes for understanding. He lets the mask drop just ever so slightly - lets his eyes burn with the intensity that they usually have right before a kill - a reward for Will’s good behavior. He knows that the empath will be able to see it, even if it’s just the slightest change. “Can I trust you, Will?”

Will’s eyes search Hannibal’s face like they’re starving. He soaks up everything, even just the slightest change in his behavior, and even while he doesn’t completely understand, he knows that Hannibal is letting him see just a little bit; just a small piece of the real him.

He nods shallowly, even relaxing against the hand cupping his face. Hannibal won’t hurt him, that much is true. He can see it in his eyes. He knows the man is manipulative, but right now, he’s being honest, and Will owes him that in return. “Yes,” He breaths out, voice just barely above a whisper.

Hannibal is quick after that, his other hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the nape of Will’s neck, bringing his mouth to his ear. Will tenses at first, surprised by the sudden action, but when Hannibal stops moving -

_I won’t hurt you, dear Will._

_-_  he relaxes again against his touch, even if it is rough.

“You and I, we’re not so different after all, Will,” Hannibal breaths, hot against his ear.

Will shudders at the breath on his neck - and when Hannibal nips at his earlobe - and nods again. “I know.”

His body feels like it’s melting, knees weak. He’s sure that there’s plenty wrong with this - that Hannibal is manipulating him and it’s obviously working - but it’s also the most alive, the most grounded, that he’s felt in months. With Hannibal pressing him up against the counter, fingers holding tight onto his hair, he feels whole. He feels understood. 

“Tell me, how did it feel when you killed Mr. Donahue?” Hannibal whispers, voice low and gravely. Even if he is the one doing this to Will, it’s obviously effecting him, too. 

“How did it feel when you sliced deep into his throat? When his blood spilled onto your hands? When you watched the light disappear from his eyes?” Hannibal continues, thumb stroking Will’s face softly again. His other hand tightens in his hair. “How did you feel?”

“Good,” Will replies immediately, and it comes out as a moan. He should feel ashamed at how Hannibal talking about his  _kill_  is turning him on, but he can’t. “I felt alive,” He adds, and Hannibal pulls back at that, so he can study his face.

“Remarkable boy,” He breaths, leaning in so their lips are just barely brushing. His breath is hot and Will’s lips part, trying to taste, but he waits. 

“You’ve learned so much,” Hannibal finally adds, and then without warning, he’s crushing their lips together. Will lets out a surprised gasp through his nose, and then his hands are coming up, mussing and tangling in his hair. 

It should worry him that he kissing the Chesapeake Ripper - practically  _moaning_  into his mouth and rocking against his hips - but it doesn’t. It really fucking doesn’t.


	4. Gracefully Cursed, I Thirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _In the midst of a storm searching for shelter  
>  I came upon one single feather  
> A half-hearted wish for something better  
> Gracefully cursed  
> I thirst_  
> \- ["Thirst"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMWoimU2wUQ) \- City And Colour

Will awakes in Hannibal's bed again the next morning.

His eyes are heavy with sleep and he almost doesn't want to move. It's been a long time since he slept more than three or four hours, and judging by the light filtering in through the curtains, it's late morning. He yawns, turning over, and isn't surprised when he finds that the other half of the bed - Hannibal's side - is empty. He can't imagine him being one to sleep in, and Will almost feels lazy for doing so in his company.

When he sits up, he looks down to examine himself - he half expects to be drenched in sweat - and he's relieved to find that he's fine. He's wearing a lightweight grey t-shirt that Hannibal had given him and his boxers, and he's dry. Completely dry and well-rested.

It takes a moment for the hazy happiness of his good night's sleep to wear off, but when it does, everything hits him all at once.

He's in Hannibal's bed. Hannibal Lecter's - _the Chesapeake Ripper -_ bed, in his underwear.

When he closes his eyes, he can practically still feel Hannibal's lips on his own.

_They're hungry, hard and demanding. But at the same time, they're also soft and comforting, careful and tentative. He takes charge, but he also cradles Will's head in his hands when he kisses him, like a confident, caring lover._

Will shakes the daze from his head.

_Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper._

For some reason, that thought doesn't worry him as much as it should. If it had to be anyone, at least it's Hannibal. At least it's someone who had taken care of him, who had kissed the life out of him last night, and had treated him with respect. He distantly remembers writhing underneath Hannibal in his bed last night after they stumbled into his bedroom -

_"Please, Hannibal," He moans, hips arching up into the strong, sturdy ones above him._

_And while Hannibal looks hungry - he could easily overpower him and take him any way he wants right now - he doesn't listen. He doesn't succumb to Will's begging and moaning. "Not now, dear Will," Hannibal replies, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss on his lips, "Patience."_

\- and he feels a blush rise up in his cheeks.

He had practically begged Hannibal to fuck him last night, and Hannibal - _the Chesapeake Ripper -_ had said no. Granted, Will can remember the look in Hannibal's eyes when he had turned him down - he _wanted_ to take him, and he let Will see that - but he still can't help but feel embarrassed. All it had taken was a few words, the right kind of kiss, and he had been lying underneath him, begging to be fucked.

And still, _that_ worries him more than the fact that Hannibal is the Ripper.

"Jesus..." Will mutters, running his hand through his hair.

_There's got to be something wrong with me._

He almost laughs out loud at his own thought. _Of course_ there's something wrong with him. This shouldn't surprise him.

Still, Will finds himself swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretching, ready to make his way out to where he's sure Hannibal is, in the kitchen. He foregoes changing - there's a stack of his clothes, neatly folded on a chair in the bedroom, and he reminds himself to thank Hannibal for doing his laundry, too - and opens the door, heading out into the hallway, still clad in his boxers and t-shirt.

Before he even reaches the kitchen, the aromas of Hannibal's cooking surround him, making his mouth water.

_It's probably people._

And when he finally steps out into the well lit room, he can't help the sleepy smile that creases his face. He's pretty sure it's the first time he's seen Hannibal not completely put together - not wearing his impeccable suit with his hair done and tie _just_ _right,_ instead clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt as well - and he immediately knows that it's on purpose. It's Hannibal dropping his mask just a little bit more, showing him that he will be rewarded for his cooperation.

Once again, Will realizes that he's being manipulated - even just a little - but he can't bring himself to care. It feels good to let go and let someone else take the reins for once, even if that person happens to be the serial killer that he's been chasing for _god knows how long_ now. And yeah, something is definitely wrong with him, but what else is new? He might as well embrace it, right?

Regardless, he can't help the small little thrill of terror that he feels when Hannibal turns his gaze from the pan on the stove to him.

"Good morning, Will," Hannibal says, face creasing into a faint smile. He turns back to the pan, "How did you sleep?"

Will suddenly finds himself nervous. Are they going to talk about things? And not just things, but _everything_? As in, are they going to talk about what happened last night? And what about Will's discovery and what that means for their relationship?

 _Relationship_.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair again. "Good. I, uh... _Great_ , actually."

Hannibal turns to him again at that, pulling the pan off of the stove as he does so. "Good."

Will watches as Hannibal plates their breakfast - everything he does looks like a masterpiece and Will feels dirty and unworthy eating it, especially in his underwear - adding a few finishing touches to it. He follows Hannibal's gestures and finds himself sitting across from him at the table, staring down at what looks like the same kind of omelet that Hannibal had prepared for him on their first breakfast together. He absently wonders if he did it on purpose - if he even remembers what they had that first time they ate together - but decides that _nothing_ Hannibal does is on accident.

It isn't until he's looking down at the food, though, that Will becomes incredibly anxious. He's not even sure why - maybe it's because he's certain that he's about to eat human meat and not for the first time, or maybe it's because he's scared that Hannibal will suddenly decide that he doesn't need him anymore and kill him after this beautiful meal - but either way, he suddenly finds that he doesn't have an appetite.

Hannibal seems to read his mind.

"I suppose you want to talk about things," He says, voice calculated and careful, much like he used to sound sitting in his office, opposite of Will. And Will looks from his food to Hannibal - _Hannibal_ , with his disheveled hair and plain t-shirt and _hungry_ eyes - and swallows hard, nodding. "You probably have a few questions for me," Hannibal continues, even shooting him a little smile, "It’s alright. Ask away."

And Will, apparently having lost his filter, asks the first thing that comes to mind.

"Is this human meat?"

Hannibal's smile widens at that, and if he were less composed, Will thinks that he might actually chuckle before he answers. "Yes."

Will swallows hard, "Who is it?"

Hannibal sets his fork down, deciding that it's going to be a long discussion, and one that he doesn't want to have with his mouth full. "A particularly rude teller from my bank," He replies honestly.

"And I've eaten... _people_ before?" Will asks, trying hard not to look down at the food again. He wonders if it was a man or a woman, but doesn’t want to ask.

"You have," Hannibal answers. He pauses for a moment, as if choosing his words before adding, "But I understand if you don't want to right now. I could prepare something else-"

" _No,_ " Will interrupts almost too quickly, and it surprises not only himself, but apparently Hannibal, as well, judging from the look in his eyes. "No," He repeats, voice even and more sure, even picking up his fork to prove his point, "It's fine. I've eaten it before."

 _And I liked it_ , he doesn't add, before spearing a piece of the bank teller sausage and biting into it.

Hannibal doesn't even try to hide the wide smile that graces his face and lights up his eyes.

They eat in silence for a few minutes before Will interrupts it again with another question. He can't deny that the breakfast is good - people or not - and he ignores the fact that it's becoming easier and easier for him to eat with every bite. It's also becoming easier for him to accept that he almost _fucked_ a serial killer last night with every bite he takes. He's sure there's some kind of metaphor in there somewhere - Hannibal is a _snake_ after all - but Hannibal's eyes distract him from finishing his thought.

"You're the Chesapeake Ripper," Will says in between bites, and a dark part of him wants to actually laugh out loud. He's eating _people_ for breakfast with the Chesapeake Ripper and he's somehow very okay with it.

"I am," Hannibal confirms, even though Will knew the answer long before he asked. Hannibal never actually _said_ it last night, but it was blatantly obvious.

"And you're not going to kill me," Will breaths. He knows it's stupid and he knows that the question is probably obnoxious and redundant - they already discussed this last night, too - but it all feels like a blur when he thinks about it and Will needs to know that this is real. That last night really happened.

"No, I'm not," Hannibal answers carefully, placing his fork down again. He leans forward a little on the table, and Will can see that dangerous spark - the one that's becoming very familiar now - in his eyes again. "As I said last night, Will, I will keep my word if you keep yours. I do not wish to kill you, but I would if I had to."

"Understandably," Will manages, and Hannibal smirks slightly at his response.

Will clears his throat at that, and he actually has to force himself to maintain eye contact with Hannibal with his next question. He feels his face flush and he can't believe that he's actually letting himself feel _self conscious_ about it, but he can't help it. "Why me?" He finally asks, heart thumping in his chest. When Hannibal just looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on, he explains. "You wanted me to know," He continues, "I didn't realize it before, but now I do. So... Why? Why _me_ , of all people?"

To his surprise, Hannibal stands at that, walking around the table to his side. His body naturally tenses and he stays sitting perfectly still in his chair - once again, he's sure there's a metaphor about predator and prey in there somewhere - as Hannibal approaches him.

Hannibal's hands are strong and sturdy -

(Will wonders how many people they've killed)

\- on his shoulders, and he leans in after a moment, hot breath tickling his neck.

"I wasn't lying when I said we weren't all that different," He says softly, and his voice, low in his ear, makes Will tremble underneath him. Hannibal leans forward to grab the fork out of Will's hand and Will lets him, watching as he scoops up some egg and sausage. Will should be embarrassed at how quickly he opens his mouth for him - _Hannibal is feeding him people, for heaven's sake_ \- but he can't bring himself to care.

"You have a beautiful mind, Will," Hannibal continues, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. Will's eyes slip closed in return, hands gripping the arms of the chair. "I knew you'd understand, even if you still don't completely. This is who you’re meant to be."

"I want to," Will breaths out in return before he even has a chance to think about it. His eyes are still closed, body still trembling, but he manages to rasp out those three words, melting underneath Hannibal’s touch. And when he doesn't say anything in return, Will's eyes finally open and he turns to look up at his doctor. (His protector, his lover.)

"I want to understand," He repeats, voice clearer, more sure when he looks up at Hannibal. "Show me."

And maybe it's the empathy - maybe it's his willingness to learn, to get into the minds of killers - but Will wants ( _needs_ ) to get inside Hannibal's mind. He wants to understand. He wants to connect.

Hannibal doesn't say a word in response, but instead, presses his lips hungrily onto Will's, one of his hands traveling from his shoulder to his throat. It stays there, pressing and pulling just slightly, holding him in place.

Will whimpers into his mouth, body going slack underneath him.


	5. A Million Minutes In The Making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You are the fire in my voice when I sing.  
>  You are the empty space at the center of everything.  
> You are the person that I swore that I could be._
> 
>  
> 
> \- ["A Million Minutes In The Making"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLFld8pHt6Q) \- The American Scene

Whenever Hannibal had let himself imagine the Will who had met his true potential, he saw something beautiful. He always knew, looking at the brilliant, broken boy, that he could be shaped into something truly remarkable. Still, nothing could have prepared him for how flawlessly Will would slide into that role. Nothing could have prepared Hannibal for the look in Will's eyes - it was hungry, full of fire and potential - when he looked up at him over breakfast that morning and asked him to _show him_.

He had predicted that Will would be a fast learner - he has a beautiful mind, after all - but he figured it would take a few days, maybe even a week or so, to coax him out. He had assumed that Will would be reluctant, even after his first kill. It hadn't been on purpose (hell, it hadn't even really been conscious) and he knew that Will would feel remorse for it at first.

Hannibal had expected that it would take some time to shape Will. He had assumed that he'd have to push him - manipulate him more than he already had - into realizing his full potential. So when Will practically begs Hannibal to teach him, he can't deny the joy that he feels.

_Beautiful boy, you've come so far._

He takes Will home that evening after their conversation. It's a Sunday night and they _both_ have to work in the morning (Hannibal decides that Will is ready to go back to work) and he wants to appeal to Will by taking him back home, back to his dogs, before submerging him completely in his world. It's a reward - one last little push - for being so good and understanding.

"Tomorrow," Hannibal promises as Will gathers his things in front of his house.

It's already dark out and he's sure that the dogs are starving, but Will can't take his eyes off of the man in the driver's seat. He nods in return, body already thrumming in anticipation at what's to come. He's surprisingly eager to learn, and the Will from a month ago would probably be disgusted in him, but he can't bring himself to care. "Alright," He replies, nodding, "Should I-"

"I'll come get you," Hannibal says before he can finish his question.

Will nods again, "Okay."

"Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything, tonight," Hannibal adds, though he knows that Will won't call. He's almost certain that he'll sleep well, and he's completely sure that Will won't have second thoughts about things. He's in too deep now to back out.

And besides, he's reborn. He's not the same Will he was before.

* * *

 

Hannibal hadn't been planning on killing again for a while - his fridge and freezer are almost fully stocked and nobody has stood out as being particularly unpleasant toward him lately - but he doesn't have any problems choosing someone when it comes to helping Will. In fact, it takes no time at all for him to find a good candidate, and by the time his last appointment is over early Monday evening, he's already tailing her from her boyfriend's house toward the outskirts of town on her way home. If he's being honest, Hannibal doesn't even really remember what she had done to him that was so rude to earn her place on his table, but that's not what matters. What matters is helping Will understand.

By about nine that night, he's pulling up to Will's house and knocking on the door. And Will, though he looks skittish and nervous, is ready. Hannibal knows he is.

He doesn't ask any questions on the way to Hannibal's house, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, and Hannibal reaches over about halfway through the drive to place a comforting hand on his knee. Will looks up and the fire - the eagerness to please - in his eyes makes Hannibal smile.

_Soon._

When they finally walk through the front door that night, it's quiet, much like it had been when they arrived a couple of days ago, only minutes before Will had discovered what and _who_ Hannibal was. He pulls Will's jacket off - it's becoming a routine now - and hangs it on the coat rack before leading the way into the kitchen.

"Hannibal-" Will starts, nervous and anxious and (maybe, just a little) excited. He has no idea what his doctor has planned, but if he knows him, he knows that he's one for showmanship. He's going to go all out, and every time they round a corner, Will expects to see a body. He expects blood or meat or _something_ , but the kitchen is impeccable as always.

Hannibal turns around at that, shushing Will by gently grabbing onto his arms, just barely squeezing his biceps. "Do you trust me, Will?" He asks, though he already knows the answer to the question. He's got his claws in deep, and he knows that Will will say yes - he would follow him anywhere now - but he needs to hear it. He needs to watch first hand as his angel transforms.

Will watches him with wide eyes and it only takes a second before he's nodding. "I do."

"Good," Hannibal returns, smiling. He lets go at that, holding out his hand for Will to take, and he does. Of course he does. Hannibal pulls him close at that, pressing a kiss to his temple before adding, "Are you ready?"

Will nods again at that, more sure. "Yes."

Then Hannibal is leading him down the hall. He's unlocking the basement door, and before Will has a chance to second guess anything, he's leading him down the stairs. He's sure that Will's eyes are wide, anxious behind him as he tries to take everything in, eager to learn, and he can't help but smile to himself. The girl should be just waking up now, and when they reach the bottom of the stairs, Hannibal stops Will.

"If you're not ready for this, I need you to tell me," He says, voice as soft and careful as he can make it. He doesn't hide the fire in his eyes, though. He doesn't hide the way that his body tenses just ever so slightly, like an animal ready to pounce. Will has earned it, to see behind his mask, so he lets him drink it all in.

Will licks his lips at that, watching with wide eyes as Hannibal shrugs off his blazer and rolls up his sleeves and he nods. "Okay."

_Good boy._

And then, without warning, Hannibal is behind Will, one hand resting carefully around his neck, the other covering his eyes. He repeats his question from earlier. "Do you trust me?"

Will's body tenses, surprised at the sudden contact and loss of vision, but he doesn't hesitate before answering, "Yes."

"Good," Hannibal returns again, rewarding him with a small nip at his ear, and then he's pressing him gently forward.

With Hannibal’s hand covering his eyes, Will has to rely completely on the gentle presses of the man behind him to guide him through the basement. And though he can't see, he knows that it's just as nice and well decorated as the rest of his house. Despite the fact that he's a killer - that plenty of people have probably died in this basement - he can't sense it.

And that is what's so terrifying about Hannibal. Will never had a clue until he decided to let him into his world. He feels like this - whatever _this_ is about to be - is like his baptism. And while that should worry him, it really fucking doesn't.

Will doesn't even flinch when Hannibal drops the hand around his throat in favor for grabbing a knife and pressing the handle into his hand. And he already knows by the feel and the weight of the weapon that it's the same one he used only a few days ago. _His first kill_.

Will should have a pit in his stomach when he realizes what Hannibal is asking of him, but he doesn't. In fact, he feels eerily calm.

_Hannibal knows what you need. He'll take care of you. He won't make you do anything you don't want to. He won’t give you anything you don’t already need or want._

He grips the knife tight.

Hannibal suddenly stops him, stilling him with a gentle hand on his hip, and he can't help but suck in a nervous breath. "Listen," He breaths against the nape of Will's neck.

At first he doesn't hear anything. Just the faint noise of the air conditioning running throughout the house and the soft breathing of the dangerous man behind him. He's about to turn his head, to ask Hannibal what he's supposed to be listening for (always the eager student) but then he hears it. Or, hears _her_ , rather.

Will has no control over the smile that graces his lips when he hears the faint whimpering of the girl. If Hannibal could see his face, he'd be proud, he knows it.

"Ready?" Hannibal asks, voice soft, and Will nods in return.

She doesn't sound too far away, maybe just another couple of yards now, and Will has to calm the hammering in his chest with every step they take forward. He knew the second that Hannibal placed the knife in his hands what was being asked of him, and he didn't want to back out. He had heard the girl's scared whimper from across the room and he didn't want to back out. So he's not nervous because he doesn't want to kill the girl, he's nervous because he wants to please the man pushing him gently forward.

Hannibal stops him again and Will can hear the girl's breathing close now, frantic and panicked. He can tell from the sound of it that she's breathing through her nose - her mouth must be taped or gagged - and Will silently thanks Hannibal. He's not sure if he'd be able to take begging. Not now, not his first time.

"Reach your hand out," Hannibal commands, and Will listens like an obedient dog, reaching out with his free hand until he touches flesh. It's her wrist, he realizes once he squeezes, earning a small whimper.

Will’s lips curl up into a smile.

"You're doing well," Hannibal compliments, pressing another kiss to his neck. "Are you ready to see?"

And though it's hesitant - he can't help but be nervous - Will nods. The hand in front of his eyes drops at that, and Will blinks a couple of times, eyes adjusting to the dim light before he looks down.

The girl is petite, skinny and only about 5'3" if Will had to guess, and he notices - with a sigh of relief - that she's completely clothed. Untouched except for the binds holding her down to the table. It's thick and wooden and resembles a large butcher's block, and Will realizes, when he takes in his surroundings, that it's situated on plastic sheets, ready to capture blood for an easy clean up. She’s practically gift-wrapped by Hannibal, just for him.

He turns at that, to look at Hannibal for the first time since he uncovered his eyes, and he has to resist the urge to grab the man by his collar and _kiss him_. It's like looking at a different man, now that they're in the basement together, preparing for a kill. It's like Will is finally seeing Hannibal - the _real_ Hannibal - for the first time. And granted, he's still poised and put together, but Will can see, clear as day, the venom and hunger and _passion_ in his eyes. Hannibal is a predator, and the girl on the table is his prey. And he's sharing that with Will.

"Is this how you usually kill?" Will asks, and he's almost surprised at how easy the words leave his mouth. A month ago, he never would have guessed that he'd be here, asking that question, but he is, and it feels good. The girl lets out another terrified whimper at his words, and a little part of Will wants to punish her for ruining their perfect moment.

"No," Hannibal answers, eyes on Will as if he's the only thing that matters, "This is for you."

"Show me," Will returns, and he savors the grin that creases Hannibal's face in return.

Hannibal takes his hands at that, turning him back around and pressing up against him so that he's guiding him, slowly and gently. The girl's eyes widen in fear and she mumbles pleas and curses from beneath her gag, squirming beneath her binds, but it does her no good. Will has made up his mind, and he's jumping in with both feet.

"You want to do it quick. Efficient, like before," Hannibal instructs, and Will knows that he's talking about his first kill. And even though he hadn't planned it and he had been losing time when it happened, when he closes his eyes he can imagine himself cutting swiftly into Mr. Donahue's throat. And then he opens them, and he's doing the same to the girl's flesh, all on his own. Hannibal still has a grip on his free hand, but the one with the knife moves by itself, slicing deep and quick, bleeding her out without a second thought. Her eyes widen and her back arches in pain, and then it's only a few more moments before the light behind them is gone and she’s lying lifeless in front of him.

Blood is already pooling around her on the table, dripping off and onto the plastic. It's on Will's hands, as well, and it feels good.

Will expects Hannibal to take over after that. He expects to hand the knife over and watch as his teacher cuts out the organs that they need. Instead, Hannibal guides Will's hand gently with his own, letting the blade drag along the girl's clothed stomach. "We're going to take her lungs and her heart," He explains softly, lips just barely brushing the shell of Will's ear. It's then that Will realizes that Hannibal wants _him_ to do this.

"Hannibal-" He starts, suddenly nervous. He had been comfortable before, cutting the girl's throat. It's something he's done a million times in his head, and already once before. But _this_... He swallows hard. This is something completely different. And it's not that he suddenly finds it morally wrong, it's that he doesn't want to mess it up. If he knows anything about Hannibal - from being his friend and from profiling the Chesapeake Ripper for so long - he knows that he's very precise about his kills and cooking. Will doesn't want to ruin that.

"I'll be right here," Hannibal assures, sensing Will's apprehension, "I'll walk you through it."

Will nods tentatively at that, letting out a deep breath and looks back down at the lifeless girl on their table. Hannibal lets go of him for a brief moment as he rips open the girl's shirt. "Start here," He instructs, pressing a gloved finger on the girl's lower abdomen, "And cut up, just like before." Will knows that he's talking about his first kill again, and lets out a deep sigh.

_You can do this. You've done it before._

Will nods, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with concentration as he begins the incision. It's easy, cutting into the lifeless corpse, and Will can't help but wonder what it's like when they're alive. He knows from seeing Hannibal's crime scenes that sometimes he does it while they're conscious, and some part of him wishes the girl still was. And another part of him knows that he'll probably get to learn what it's like before too long.

Hannibal watches with experienced eyes as Will slices up. "Good," He praises, leaning in to press a hot kiss to the back of Will's neck, "Just like that."

Once Will has made the cut - it's thick and deep and there's more blood now, covering his hands and wrists - he looks up for guidance. "I don't-" He starts, but Hannibal silences him, placing his hands on top of Will's, guiding him. He points out the other organs, explaining why they're leaving those, then shows him where to cut to get what they need.

Blood is a familiar feeling on his hands now – it’s warm and comforting like home - and he doesn't even think twice about it now when it rushes over his skin, red and thick. Instead, he just sighs out through his nose, leaning back against Hannibal's sturdy body. And Hannibal's lips are brushing against his ear, murmuring out soft words of encouragement.

It's intimate, Hannibal guiding him, body pressed against his back, hot breath on his neck, and Will feels himself tremble, cock stirring in his jeans. It shouldn't turn him on, cutting into a lifeless body like he's gutting a fish, but it does, and he's strangely okay with that. In fact, he's okay with anything Hannibal does - anything Hannibal shows him.

"How did I do?" Will asks, turning once the meat is cut out and put in containers for storage. It's too late to cook it tonight, but Will knows that it's going to be their lunch or dinner tomorrow, and he knows that Hannibal is going to ask for his help in preparing it, letting his mask drop even more as he pulls will deeper into his world.

Will has blood on his shirt and hands and arms, and Hannibal wordlessly dips his own fingers in it, smearing it up his arm. He tastes it for himself at that before pressing a digit to Will's lips. Will opens up immediately, without having to be asked, and Hannibal's eyes darken as he watches him lick his finger clean. He wraps his arms around Will at that, now bloody hands coming up to tangle in his hair before whispering, "Beautifully."

Cleanup is easy due to the plastic sheet, and it only takes about an hour for the two of them to finish making the basement spotless, and to dispose of the body. It's mostly silent as they do so, and Will soaks up everything that Hannibal shows him, eager to please and learn.

Next time, Hannibal will let him cut the meat out on his own.

They don't eat when they get back home. It's almost midnight by the time they walk back into the house, and though Will should be exhausted, he isn't. His body is thrumming with excitement at what's to come. He watches patiently as Hannibal prepares the meat for the next day, storing it in the fridge for future use. And while Will is anxious to try it - he never thought he'd say that - he's patient. It will be worth the wait.

"You did well," Hannibal compliments, nuzzling his face into Will's neck to nip at his skin, and Will practically _melts_ at the praise.

"Really?" He asks in return, pulling away to look at the man - his teacher - in front of him.

"Yes," Hannibal confirms, which earns a smile from Will. The boy - his brilliant, beautiful boy - is shining now, the praise lighting up his eyes and Hannibal resists the urge to grab him hard and kiss the life out of him. He's everything that Hannibal knew he could be and more, and he's still growing.

To his surprise, it's Will that kisses _him_. It's not hard and searing as Hannibal's would have been, but instead tentative and gentle, as if Will is unsure if it's allowed to do it or not. It isn't until Hannibal reaches forward, hand tangling in his hair that Will relaxes against him, allowing him to take over. And though he wants to _take_ , he stops himself with a small bite and a swipe of his tongue at Will's bottom lip. He knows that Will is in a fragile state right now, and he doesn't want to press him too far.

"You should shower," Hannibal comments once they pull apart. He's holding one of Will's hands in his own, examining it, and there's a little bit of dried blood underneath his finger nails, despite having scrubbed his hands after the kill.

Will wordlessly allows Hannibal to lead him through his bedroom, to the adjoining bathroom, where he pulls his shirt over his head while Hannibal turns the water on. He doesn't protest when Hannibal unbuttons and discards his own shirt, either, and with a small smirk, Hannibal takes a few steps forward until he has Will pressed up against the bathroom wall. He leans in and kisses him hard and fast, mouth open and tongue swiping across his lips, leaving Will breathless when they finally part.

Hannibal leans in at that, reaching down to unbutton Will's jeans and slide them and his boxers down his legs and onto the floor. And Will, usually self-conscious and scared, just presses back in return, mimicking his actions until they're both naked, steam surrounding them in the bathroom.

Will is already half hard by the time they step in the shower together. Hannibal trails in behind him, hands on his hips, guiding him. He's sure that there's something to be said about that -

(Hannibal has been guiding him a lot lately)

\- but he doesn't bother thinking about it. Not with the way the other man's fingers dig just slightly into his skin.

Wordlessly, Hannibal picks up a bottle of shampoo and lathers it on his hands before stepping forward and running them through Will's thick hair. He would normally be embarrassed about the way he leans into the touch - much like one of his dogs when he first brings them home and bathes them - but he's not. Not when Hannibal's nails scrape just slightly at his scalp, causing him to press into it. No, he doesn't mind feeling like Hannibal's pet when he touches him like this.

They're pressed together just barely, slick bodies underneath the warm water, and Will actually has to hold back a moan when Hannibal presses his head under the stream, rinsing him off. He'll smell like him now (and hell, he's already beginning to think like him and kill like him, too) and he's more than okay with that.

Hannibal presses his face into Will's neck, kissing hotly before grabbing one of his hands and examining it again. "Can you still feel the blood?" He asks softly, and _God_ that really shouldn't be as arousing as it is. He's talking about _blood_ , about the girl that they just killed ( _together_ ) for heaven's sake, yet Will feels his cock jump at the murmured question.

"Yes," Will breaths out, closing his eyes. He imagines the hot liquid dripping down his body as a deep red, instead of clean and clear, and murmurs, "I can see it."

Hannibal turns him and kisses him at that, pressing him roughly up against the tile wall of the shower. He swallows up the little whimpers and moans Will makes in return, and before long, he's kissing his way down his neck, biting and soothing with his tongue as he moves along. Will would make a joke about how they're not really getting clean - quite the opposite - but his mind his a hazy mess of blood and pleasure and _Hannibal_ , and he can't really manage anything besides a small, " _Hannibal, please,_ " instead.

"What do you want?" Hannibal murmurs out, accenting it with a sharp nip at Will's neck. It may be hard enough to draw blood, but he can't tell, not with the hot liquid already rushing down his body.

Will throws his head back in response, gasping out, " _You_."

So it's even a surprise to _him_ , when Will finds himself sinking to his knees on the shower floor only moments later, turning to press _Hannibal_ up against the wall instead. He chalks it up to it being his way of saying thank you - _thank you for understanding, for helping me, for teaching me -_ but it could easily be that he just wants to please the other man, looking down at him with lustful, hungry eyes. 

(Or it's because he wants to be _good_ , wants to show Hannibal how much he appreciates him.)

Either way, Will doesn't even think about it before he's leaning in, licking a broad stripe up the length of Hannibal's cock. His hands come up, stroking up Hannibal's thighs before holding gently onto his hips, and he looks up through his wet lashes - through the warm water beating down at him - at the dangerous, beautiful man above him. He nuzzles his face into his thigh, mouthing softly at the side of his cock.

It doesn't surprise him that Hannibal is mostly quiet - the most he gets out of him from teasing is one tiny, choked out breathy moan and a few gasps - but he doesn't mind. And he _definitely_ doesn't mind when one of Hannibal's hands cradles his face gently, working his jaw open, while the other tangles in his hair. He lets his body relax at that, lets Hannibal take the wheel, and complies, his mouth dropping open without even so much as a word from the man above him.

A week ago, he never would have been able to see himself in this position with _anyone_ , let alone Hannibal. He couldn't even imagine relinquishing all control, trusting him the way that he does now, staring up at him expectantly. But now, _now_ it actually feels good to close his eyes and let Hannibal guide him.

 _Hannibal knows. He'll take care of you_.

When Hannibal presses his cock just barely into his mouth, Will is quick to suck gently at the head, eager to please.

_Hannibal has done all of this for him. It's the least he can do._

Will relaxes his throat as Hannibal presses forward slightly with his hand on the back of his head, taking more of him into his mouth. He's gentle at first, holding back just ever so slightly, and Will can tell. He can tell, and he almost wants to pull off, to tell Hannibal that he doesn't have to hide - doesn't have to hold back anymore - but instead, he just tightens his grip on Hannibal's thighs, pulling him forward slightly. Hannibal's cock just barely bumps the back of his throat at the action and Will holds back a gag in favor of holding him in place.

_Look at how good I'm being. This is for you._

And Hannibal understands. It only takes a moment for him to glance down at Will - the beautiful boy just _keeps_ surprising him - before he's tightening his grip on his hair and thrusting his hips forward, cock pressing hard into and down Will's throat. He pulls back just as quickly, letting Will regain his composure, sputtering and gasping for air, before he thrusts forward again. And this time, Will moans around his cock, body relaxing underneath him.

"Good boy," Hannibal coos softly, thumb stroking Will's cheek, and that only makes him moan again, entire body trembling with want. Will even lets his arms drop to his sides at that, entire body going slack as he lets Hannibal use him, thrusting forward sharply and only pulling out to allow him small little gasps of air.

And despite the lack of oxygen, he's still hard. In fact, it might be the light-headedness and delicious burn of Hannibal's cock in his throat that has Will wrapping a hand around himself, desperate for release as Hannibal uses him. And when Will does come, it's because suddenly, Hannibal’s grip in his hair is tightening impossibly, hips stilling as he pulses down his throat.

Hannibal pulls out once he's spent, cock softening, leaving Will kneeling on the shower floor, gasping for air. He leans down after he gathers himself, lifting Will up by his shoulders. To his surprise, the younger man stands alright on his own, well enough to press him into the wall again, pressing a wet kiss on his lips. And Hannibal accepts it, stroking Will's hair as they kiss messily.

_He can taste himself on Will's tongue._

Hannibal pets Will's hair softly as the kisses dissolve into small pecks, and he presses one final one on his temple when Will finally huffs out a small breath, nuzzling into his neck. The water is still running and he's sure that it's going to go cold soon, but he lets his angel have his moment, still catching his breath, even as he kisses gently at his neck.

"Thank you," Will murmurs over and over against Hannibal's wet skin, and the words make him smile. Will has learned well. " _Thank you, thank you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this, and for all of the amazing and wonderful comments! You guys are the reason I keep writing.  
> I _love_ writing dark!Will, so I hope you guys all enjoyed this last chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> (I AM currently working on another longer dark!will fic, due to many requests to make this one longer, so keep an eye out!)


End file.
